Character Memoirs

Before dawn in the army camp, Ceinlys prepares to leave and the various Knights gather.

Date:

14th January 2012

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Ironborn Events

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Army Camp

The main body of the encampment

January 14th 289 A.L.

Nothing like leaving the warmth of even a military bed for the chill of a morning. This, however, is nothing in comparison to the Northern dawns, and as such, Young Lord Anders Flint moves about as if it was a warm summer's day. He does feel a chill, but it has nothing to do with the air, but rather the fact there are Ironborn camped without— time given to them on a silver platter as far as Anders is concerned. Now, with any advantage effectively wiped away, he knows that there is nothing left for it but to fight. Emerging from his tent, and then walking across his particular encampment, he's pleased enough with the lack of women. But to look farther, a scowl adorns his face.. and he shakes his head. He's ready for the day, as ready as he'll ever be, both mentally and physically (he knows the score), but can the same be said of the giggling knights in the other camps who seem to take this a little less seriously than they should?

*

In the midst of bustling handmaidens and footmen alike, the Lady Erenford can be seen well enough; tightening the straps of a saddlebag that rests across the flanks of a sturdy little mount. More of a carthorse than a courser, persumably 'borrowed' from a squire of the House, the stocky grey stands stoic and calm, almost half-asleep it seems, with one hindfoot resting idle, head low. "..only what is truly required, Brigid.. the remainder will follow with the rest of our camp.." Ceinlys' instructions to her senior servant are quietly voiced, but that throaty tone of hers carries easily enough upon air that evidently still considers itself of the night-time sort. Deftly buckling the strap in place, the young woman pats absently at the sleepy horse's shoulder, pausing to cast her glacial blue eyes over the progress of her companions. By any standards, she has left it perilously late to depart.. but at least she plainly has the common sense to do so. Those noble men and knights who will remain need no distractions from damsels.. nor from capable, pragmatic ladies, for that matter. She knows her place and it is no longer here - there is nothing more she can do now.

"Good lad.." she murmurs distracted praise to her mount as he turns his massive head to regard her and exhale a soft, grass-scented breath. But her attention has settled elsewhere. "Ser Anders." she greets the young nobleman, watching his rather purposeful stroll across the damp grass for a moment before lowering her striking eyes and dipping a shallow curtsey. Her russet wool cloak evidently serves well enough in warding the same cold he is aware of, as well as somewhat disguising her distinctive raven tresses; a deep-cowled hood being set atop them for now.

*

Too little, too late. Anders pauses in his steps, an inclination of his head given in acknowledgment of the courtsey and courtesy of the greeting. "Lady Erenford." His voice is low in the still-dark dawn, "I commend you for the thought." But. "Isn't your departure a little.. late, however?" He'd instructed his squire to personally bring the Lady Flint back to Stonebridge a day and a half ago, and to be sure Einar did so, promised the man he'd see battle if he rode hard back. It's hard to hide the disapproval in his tones, though the chances are good that she is simply there to bear some of his frustrations at the complete lack of understanding on the part of the Frey contingent. "Or had your brother made the grievous error of actually believing that which the Lords Frey had to say on the matter?"

*

Ceinlys doesn't flinch, calmly holding the northman's gaze and folding her hands comfortably against her skirts. "Perhaps so.." she replies, evenly, with the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "But mine is far from the gravest error made in these past few hours, would you not agree, Ser?" Scratching beneath the horse's shaggy mane, she then moves away from it, stepping toward the knight and folding her slender arms comfortably across her midsection beneath her cloak. "It is not for vassals to question, to believe or disbelieve. Only to follow the orders they are given." Softening her tone, following this 'proper' response, the young lady relents to a fleeting expression of sympathy. She's obviously well-used to being a verbal punching bag, when it comes to the frustrations of noblemen. "..I do understand your unease, Ser. I do. I trust that my lingering this long does not further incite any displeasure you might have in seeing me. I had hoped to depart without fuss." Still, she doesn't seem exactly disinclined to spend a moment with him, offering a touch of warmth in her smile as it appears once more. "..I will be gone soon enough, I promise you."

*

"Far from the gravest error," Anders agrees, "but one that still speaks volumes as to judgement upon the part of that who makes such decisions. Just as the others." He exhales in a soft chuff, and is just short of issuing an apology for his words. Instead, he echoes the softing tone and nods, "I hope that the way isn't barred and the time is too late, my lady. I wish it with all my heart." He pauses, and continues after a couple of long moments, his voice low, "There is concern that you are followed and they attempt to take Stonebridge, thinking it undefended and put us into a divided battle, effectively halving our forces."

*

Nodding her understanding, her expression sobering, the young lady replies in a similarly hushed tone. "I expected as much. Though, should they prevail in any sense here, it stands to reason they will march upon Stonebridge once more, regardless of where the noble ladies of the region choose to go. Or when." Tucking a stray tendril of dark hair back into the hood of her cloak, Ceinlys regards the knight with glittering blue eyes, caught by the surrounding lamp and firelight. "..I will not lead my household into a trap if I can help it, Ser. But.. perhaps it is in my upbringing. I wished to know the last of your standing here, before I took my leave. If only to assuage the disquiet in my heart." Her hand falls now to clutch at her cloak, drawing it close against the hollow of her throat. For all her occasionally diffident manner, she seems genuinely concerned for the forces who must remain here. She even ignores Anders' obvious irritation at her having been here in the first place.

*

"Of course they will. But we will have given you time to depart there as well. There is no shame in departing before advancing armies." When you're a woman, that is. Anders shakes his head, "Knowing our standing will not make your path safer, lady. What it will do is add to your fretting, ignoring the comforting words of 'there are more men on the way' or 'we have the superior force and will see you when the Roost is secure'. There is a great deal to be said for beliefs such as this. Children aren't the only ones who need to believe the good." Again, women.. "It is the odd lady that actually wishes to hear things as they lie, without listening to the potentials of victory.. or at least a draw."

*

"Oh, I think it's the odd man, too," Gedeon opines from where he's been set in the cart that means to travel with Ceinlys back to Stonebridge. No woman, but in no fit shape for battle, he has, at the very least, had his wound stitched up when no further signs of infection could be found, last night. "We all like to presume our forces can trump those who stand against up, once we've committed to the battle. It is a rare person, man or woman, who reflects fondly on death or defeat."

*

Canting her head a little askance, a strange smile playing about her lips now, Ceinlys watches the man she speaks with contemplatively as he speaks. "Ser.." she begins, gently, "..I do not require coddling. Yes, it is true, comfort can be found in honeyed words, for all their deception. But I am a woman of realism and fact…" Her smile quirks briefly to a smirk. "..and I am not the sort to 'fret'. The balance of a battle may spin on the most tenuous of chance, and that in turn can affect the weighted scales of an entire war. So why bemoan any shortcomings?" Venturing a half-step closer, her skirts damp at the hems thanks to the long grass underfoot, the Lady Erenford shakes her head fractionally. "I do not need to believe the 'good', Ser. I have faith in the Gods, and in the sword arms of those who defend what is at their backs. And I -will- see you again." As Gedeon speaks up, Ceinlys' smile turns wry. She had almost forgotten the injured knight, propped as comfortably as is possible amid trunks and bags. Glancing back over her shoulder toward him, she remarks, "Quite. Belief in what we -know-. Not the fairytales some may spin."

*

"Men, however, are able to handle the news and work such that such things that bode ill do not come to pass. Women have not that luxury, normally." Anders does qualify his statement. "There are those that rise to the occasion, however, and are more like men than their fairer sisters." Widow's Peake, for instance.. though they are never called to send forces. The darkness before dawn is still there; few stars as the world decides that light will come in the form of the large orb. The cart is packed, the horse attached to the traces and resting comfortably during the conversation behind held before him. "We do like to believe we will prevail; if we do not, we will not, regardless of numbers and superiority." Anders chuckles softly, twisting around to see his camp moving more now— horses being readied, weapons and armour.. "What we know is not always what the Gods know. So there is room for those 'fairy tales'." The smile remains, and with the lady's words, Anders does incline his head in a bow, "You will most certainly see me again after this, Lady Erenford. Hale and hearty."

*

There is, for Anders's words, a weak huff of a laugh from the man in the cart. "I begin to wonder, my lord," Gedeon murmurs, his lips still curled upwards and his tone drowsily bemused, "if you have actually ever met a woman." He lifts a hand to waves the words away. "would that I was standing with you and the others. Barring that, I can only bid the Warrior protect this endeavor and see our lands rid of these interlopers."

*

In spite of herself, Ceinlys laughs quietly, lowering her gaze to the ground for a long moment, withdrawing from Anders as he looks over his own men. "I can see this is not a debate I shall win this morning, Ser. You shall simply have to prevail, so that I may argue the point with you at a later date." Looking up again, features somewhat shaded by her hood, she smiles faintly. "..do we have an accord?" Half-turning back toward the cart, the young lady passes the curve of her lips up toward the reclining knight seated there, checking that a sack by his side is quite secure. "Ser Rivers." She addresses him in a brisk manner, as if dismissing these thoughts of if's and maybes without so much as a how's-your-father. "How capable are you with a bow?" Maybe it's just to appease the northerner who seems to hold much concern for their retreat to Stonebridge. Or perhaps she'd had it in mind all along. Certainly this is far from a formidable group. Presumably the lady hopes to hedge her bets upon speed (some hope, hauling a cart), and stealth (see aforementioned).

"You are newly wed, I believe, Ser Anders.." she continues, as an aside. "..you will learn swiftly what women can and cannot handle. Or suffer the consequences of presumption!" It's evidently intended as a jest. Still, Ceinlys offers Gedeon a grateful glance upward, looking vaguely surprised by his interjection, though not displeased.

*

Emerging from the Haigh encampment, Aron is -shockingly- bearing a rather large chest in his arms. He lugs it toward the wagon, trailed after by one of his squires. The young knight is unarmored, but bearing his broadsword and dagger, as befits a man in a war-camp. "Sister! I have something for you." Making his way to the wagon and setting the chest down with a soft thud, Aron offers a polite nod toward Gedeon and Anders. "Lord Flint, Ser Rivers. Good to see you both. Especially you, Ser Rivers - it's good to see you on your feet. Well, conscious, at least." His grin is a bit impish, but friendly enough.

Turning to Ceinlys, Aron adds "I've packed the remainder of my coin, and a few of your favorite books for you. I certainly shan't be needing the coin, and you said you wanted a palfrey.." Aron seems almost anxious, an unusual state for the imperturbably-cocky young knight. "Are you certain I can't send Tagett with you? Or perhaps a few of the squires?"

*

"I have, Ser Rivers, believe it or not.. and so far, my faith remains unshaken," it's said with a smile, a touch of amusement lingering in the tones. "Remarkably, I was born of one, and have newly wed one." The smile remains, as does the humour in his tones. "And if there is time for confession, both cause me some consternation— each in their own way." Anders shrugs lightly, though not dismissively at Ceinlys' withdrawal from the debate. He bows once again, "At a later date, then." When the battles are done.

"Good morning, lord Erenford." Anders' brows rise at the chest being loaded, and his head cants. Such coin.. here. Well, until they make town-fall, certainly it's probably safer in possession. "Good to see you up and about. And ready."

*

There is a small wince from Gedeon as Aron thumps the trunk down into the cart and causes it to jostle faintly. "Good morning, my lord Haigh" Ser Rivers replies to him in good spirits, "It's rather a pleasure to be feeling lucid, I admit, if not quite on my own legs yet." To Ceinlys he says a bit more somberly, "I handle a bow not so well as I handle a spear, but well enough to be of some assistance, should we be beset." For Anders words of his mother and his wife, Gedeon only smiles again and leans back in the cart with a mild shake of his head. "Indeed, as you say, my lord."

*

Chuckling quietly at the exchange between Anders and the reclining knight in the cart, Ceinlys turns her attention to her elder brother as he approaches, and watches him load the chest with an arched brow. "..I am certain, brother. Every sword is needed here. Even Tagett's." There's a trace of quiet animosity, come mention of the rather roguish common knight who accompanies their numbers. Once the young lord's task is done, she reaches to lightly grasp at his upper arm, by way of reassurance. "Gods willing, the ride will not be long and the way remains clear." Smoothing his sleeve back into place, the Lady Erenford looks back to the other pair, offering a slow nod of acknowledgement toward Anders, making no comment now upon his 'consternation'. To Gedeon, she casts a soft-spoken enquiry. "Have you one, or shall I have one fetched?" Regardless of his misgivings, she seems at least heartened by the idea of -someone- wielding a useful weapon.

*

"Eager, I would say, Ser Anders. This damnable war is ruining the tourney season." A cluck of the Haigh lordling's tongue before he grins. "And I always fret when I am separated from my family. Only poor Harlyn now." With a dismissive wave of his hand, the knight implies that his brother is not exactly the best company. "Perhaps you'd do me the honor of conversation while we wait for the battle to -finally- commence?" If the young man is nervous about the upcoming confrontation, there is not a flicker of it on his features.

He catches the Flint lord's raised brow, smiling toward him as he explains. "This is what is left of my tourney winnings - I've been very fortunate in my wagers." To Gedeon, he adds "My men have some rather fine bows. But maybe a crossbow would be easier for you? I believe one of the knights has one.. Anything, to make this ride safer." Despite his sister's protestations, the man does seem more worried about her than about warfare. Still, he smiles to the young woman. "And I'll see you in Stonebridge soon, sister, once we send off Maron Greyjoy's little gang."

*

"I'll need a bow, I've only my sword and shield with me," Gedeon answers. He nods, solemnly, for Aron's words. "If you've a crossbow, my lord, that would serve me best. Drawing a longbow's quiver back require abdominal muscles, and mine are somewhat impaired at present. I will manage, if I must, but I should trust my focus with a crossbow better."

*

A simple gesture from the Lady Erenford, and one of her attendants - who had evidently been paying heed to the discussion as she strapped down a burlap sack to the side-rail of the cart - dips a curtsey and takes off at a brisk pace to fetch a bow from within the Haigh camp. Flashing a warm, if rather wistful, smile toward her elder brother, Ceinlys steps to the neck of her borrowed mount, running her hand along the stocky creature's dapple grey coat. "My thanks, dear brother. I shall do my best to affirm a residence, upon arrival to Stonebridge. If it please you." Letting a young lady loose with a coffer of coin? Brave man. Or foolish. The rumors vary, certainly.

Looking over her surroundings, with the activity about her own little caravan diminishing, the blue-eyed noblewoman takes stock of the camp a last time; a contemplative air settling about her, apparent despite the shade of her hooded cloak, which does its part to partially obscure her pretty features. "Are you otherwise comfortable, Ser Rivers..?" she murmurs, absently, despite the distraction of her attention from him. "Soon we shall be off, and I am afraid I shall have no desire to pause, thereafter."

*

Aron grins down at Gedeon, but there is a somber, measuring look in his eyes as he speaks. "I've been told you're a man to watch when things get tight, Ser Rivers. Please don't disappoint me - see my sister safely to Stonebridge, and I'll owe you a debt." The arrogant young Haigh seems somewhat subdued for a moment, before his smile widens. "I know! I shall fete you, as I promised, as soon as this whole pesky affair is over with."

Turning to Ceinlys, he adds "Do -please- be gentle with my winnings, sweet sister. But if you see something you simply *must* have.." An indulgent gesture is made with one hand. "There will always be more victories at tourney." He grins, reaching to touch Ceinlys's elbow lightly before speaking. "And visit the Temple of the Seven for me, sister? I haven't had time to speak with a Septon." Surprisingly urgent request for a man who seems so utterly confident of his own victory.

*

Jarod emerges from his tent, up early, though that's hardly unusual in the army camp. He's armed and armored, also not unusual. He takes a deep breath of the dawn air, like he's drinking it it, and lets it out in a huff. There's an air of pent-up energy, and not small amount of frustration, about him as he takes a long look around the place. "Freys have a curious idea of this whole 'advancing' thing…" he mutters irritably, venturing into the main area of camp. He spies the cart, and spies Gedeon upon it, halting a moment before continuing on. In that direction.

*

From the east, the sound of horses can be heard though it seems to be only a Knight and his squire riding into view early in the morning. The pair had to camp on between the war front here and Stonebridge since it had gotten too dark to ride safely, much to Erik's dismay. Since he is here as a Free Lance and not a noble representing his house, there is no fancy pavilion and a retinue of guards and even servants to tend to him, only a young squire. "Let's not delay, Joseph, we have already missed one engagement against the Ironborn from what I hear, we will not miss another." Despite not having the fancy amenities, there is still a sense of pride coming from the young Knight.

*

The darkness before dawn makes it a little difficult to see, but the fires that are still lit give enough light over the group speaking. "Shame, Lord Haigh. I confess that I tend to miss the tourneys, sadly. The distance for honours and noteriety is too far for me. I am content, then, to remain in my Northland." Anders' brows rise with the word of fete-ing a bastard? There's tending, certainly, but celebrating? Still, family is family.. and even a bone is thrown to a good dog. "Be kind with his money, lady Erenford."

*

"You've my solemn word, my lord," Gedeon pledges, resting a hand lightly against his heart as he speaks to Aron. "She will be returned safely to Stonebridge." He smiles softly, well-pleased by the offer of a favor, though the form that favor takes, a fete, causes his smile to become a bit more practiced than genuine. "That's very kind, Lord Haigh, thank you." To Ceinlys he adds, "I am quite well, my lady, thank you. I'm no stranger to travel or injury, I am well-prepared for our little trip." Jarod, as he arrives, gets a nod from the more wounded Rivers and a smirk for the comment about the Freys. But, he keeps his own opinions to himself, what with their bannermen in the process of taking him off to Stonebridge.

*

The young lady amid the gathered gentry grins slightly at the twin pleas of not squandering her brother's hard-earned - well sort of - coin. "I shall endeavour to be frugal, Sers." she replies, though the manner in which her throaty-toned words are given suggests it to be a placation, nothing more. After all, she has been stuck in a tent for quite some time. Casting a faint smile and a nod toward Gedeon to convey their understanding, Ceinlys moves to stand before her temporary mount, rubbing lightly at the creature's roman nose. Presumably she awaits the return of her attendant with the promised crossbow. And then? Then there's naught left but the distance between here and Stonebridge. A risk, no doubt of it. But she at least -appears- collected and calm. Icy blue eyes turn eastward at the sound of thundering hooves, of course, though seeing no colors flying she makes no comment.

*

Erik's Squire can be seen leading a spare mount as well which is ladened with equipment and perhaps essentials of travel and some comforts while the pair approaches the activity of the Army Camp. The young noble knight himself is mounted on a Courser as he makes his way towards the camp which means he will be passing by Ceinlys and her precious cargo of Gedeon. While he approaches the two, Erik nods his head to the Lady, then looks at the injured man, "Morning." He offers to both in passing.

*

Greeting the approaching Jarod with a cordial nod of his head, Aron smiles a bit at Anders' response. "I have heard that there are many fine riders in the north, Lord Flint - perhaps someday, we will have the opportunity to break lances." The desire seems genuine, if friendly enough - talk of tourneys appears to be the only conversation which truly excites the young Haigh lord. He looks up at the arrival of a new knight, frowning a bit and studying the man before returning his attention to the cluster of people around him.

"I've a feeling that after today, we shall be sweeping through Stonebridge on the way to Seagard. In fact, I feel -confident- of it." Aron's words have a mild boastfulness to them, as though he means to imply that he will single-handedly defeat the Ironborn foe. "And thank you, sister. Your -endeavors- are ever so important to me." The very faintest hint of his famous biting wit can be heard. "Ser Gedeon, my thanks. I shall draw as much comfort from your oath as you shall from my sister's ministrations."

*

Jarod starts to whistle as he approaches the wagon. It's a jaunty drinking/battle Riverlands battle tune that might be familiar to some. When he's particularly near he even sings snatches of it to himself. "…let me go, boys, let me go, boys, let me go down in the mud where the rivers all run dry…" When he's near enough to converse properly, he offers a general half-bow of greeting around to those gathered there. His focus is on Gedeon, however. "They're taking you back to Stonebridge, then? Pity. Could use more swords. Anyhow. Try not to die." It's not precisely warmly said, but he seems sincere about not particularly wanting Gedeon to die.

*

Anders inclines his head to the oncoming Jarod in response to the half bow given to the general group. The Young Lord is calm, but there's a decided lack of pleasure in remaining stagnant, waiting for something to happen. When the other man acknowledges the bastard first, however, his back straightens and his eyes narrow, pointedly now turning towards Aron. "It is all we do, my lord. There are vast distances to claim, and we rely upon our horses.. and therefore, we ride and learn to fight well upon them." It's no idle boast. "We will take the Roost, aye.. and once that is complete, I may very well turn my eye to Seagard, as I need not rely upon the word of your Lord Frey to do so." Thankfully. Erik's acknowledging of the pair, Ceinlys and the bastard, well.. that is the marker that it is time to go before words are exchanged. "My lord Haigh, my lady Erenford.. I take my leave. There are men that require their final orders, and now that I have a better idea of the lay of the land, I will give them their instructions for the day ahead. Ser Rivers.." Gedeon. "Have a safe ride back.. and a crossbow is a perfect weapon." Anders inclines his head to the rest and departs the group, turning around to head back to the fully outfitted Flint encampment.

*

Curiously regarding the passing knight from her far lower vantage, Ceinlys responds to his nod and greeting with a demure downward flit of her blue eyes, affecting a curtsey if not quite performing the motion. "Ser." Any sword in a storm, after all. Gathering numbers are a welcome sight. Her palm sweeps down across her horse's broad cheek, before settling at the curve there, her thumb stroking his coat. The little carthorse appears delighted - he likely rarely receives any sort of affection. The young lady ignores him as he nudges her belligerently in the stomach, however. She must not be one of those humans who carries snippets of carrot. Ah well, can't win 'em all.

Looking to the young knight who addresses Gedeon, Ceinlys musters a faint smile, not familiar with him but seeming at least amused by his 'concern'. Ah, at last. Rosy-cheeked and windswept, the Lady Erenford's handmaiden returns, hefting a weighty crossbow toward the injured man in the cart. There's time for a smile toward Anders as he bids his farewell to the group, before the young lady moves toward the grey's saddle, pulling down the stirrup with a snap of metal on leather.

*

"They are," Gedeon says to Jarod in regards to his return to Stonebridge, "and I shall try my utmost, Ser Rivers, not to die. Trounce the Ironborn soundly, would you? I should like to fight beside you again in aiding Seagard." He settles back into his cart, watching as a few new folks arrive and the travelers ready to depart. "You're singing the wrong verse," he points out to Jarod, "for this particular battle."

*

As Erik draws near the group of Lord and Knights, he directs his Squire to find an open space to set up the equipment and lay things out so they can prepare for fighting when the time comes as he will try to find some luck in attaching his Free Lance to a House here, for mutual benefit. He does hear the comments about the Ironborn being week as he nears the gathering of men, inclining his head to the group in greeting, "Morning, M'Lords, Sers." Addressing those who fit the station, those below it may seemingly be ignored by the Lordling, "So, I hear the barbaric invaders are nothing more than pin cushions for lances and swords?" Joining the conversation at hand as his eyes looks over in the direction of where the main bloody battlefield will be, whenever those in charge decides it is time to fight.

*

Senna has returned for one last check on her patient, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows in preparation for whatever else may come in the day. She sweeps a broad curtsey as she approaches the cart, enough to suffice for the gathered nobility, before moving to Gedeon's side. "Ser Rivers," she greets with a small smile. "Ready for the trip?"

*

"Ser Anders, do take care. I will see you later today, perhaps, before we -finally- march off to this tedious battle? I was curious about a few things.." Aron's tone is perfectly friendly, even as the other Lord departs, and he waves to him in an almost childish manner. Returning his attention to his sister, the knight adds "Do not tighten the cinch-belt overmuch.." Teaching his granny to suck eggs. "And don't worry, Ser Gedeon, we will plow fields with Ironborn blood." Aron's smile is decidedly ugly.

*

Jarod isn't calm, precisely, but his manner isn't nervous. He has the look of a horse keyed up and ready to go, and held at the starting gate. He inclines his head to Anders as the Northern knight departs, another to incoming Erik and offers a slightly deeper bow to Ceinlys. It has a dramatic sort of flourish to it, much as he can manage in armor, at least. Though it's Aron he actually offers words to. "Ser Aron Haigh. I had been hoping to make your acquaintance properly before the next sortie. Whenever that'll be. You kill Ironmen very well, Ser." Said with a flash of a smile. His own has a trace of boyishness about it, though is eyes are to bright and grim at the moment for it to really be called that. It's a trait he very much admires. Though his head tilts back at Gedeon. "What's the right one?"

*

As Senna arrives, she is treated to, perhaps, the most open and guileless smile Gedeon Rivers has yet offered, and he inclined his head towards her. "Mistress Delacourt, I'm ready as I expect to be. I thank you again for your diligent care." Erik, as he arrives, and speaks, gets a nod of greeting from the knight in the cart. And then, with a faint smirk, fingers tapping out the beat lightly on his knees, Gedeon offers to Jarod, "This land was always ours, was the proud land of our fathers. It belongs to us and them, not to any of the others…"

*

Ser Keelin Dorsey is passing through, on his way to make sure his horse and gear are all ready to go. He pauses as he passes a large group, and the fellow in the cart besides, a brow arching. It's a moment to take the measure of the men that are here, knowing he may well be fighting along side them, in the not so distant future. He changes the direction of his steps, moving towards the small group and giving an adequate bow. "Good day to you all, m'Lords, M'Lady, Sers, Mistress Delacourt." At least he's not a complete stranger, though the Mallister colours he bears might well be in the minority around these parts.

*

Distractedly, Ceinlys glances sidelong again toward the young knight addressing her brother, now. His deep bow elicits a slow smile, and she curtseys elegantly in return.. well, as elegantly as can be expected as she readies her saddle. "Ser." Only a vaguely withering look is offered to her raven-haired sibling for his advice, though a wry quirk to her lips perhaps softens her expression enough to keep from irritating him. Leaving him to the discussions of men, the Lady Erenford simply attends to herself without a trace of concern, placing her foot in the stirrup of the thick-boned carthorse and swinging herself lightly up into the saddle, settling gently still with the hood of her woolen cloak securely atop her own black mane. Gathering the reins in graceful, gloved hands, she looks behind her to the cart, and the young healer who has appeared, without a moment to spare. "Miss Delacourt..?" Crooking a finger, she beckons Senna closer. Around the young lady, the other handmaidens fortunate enough to be lent a mount also rise to their saddles. Those without seem prepared to brave the journey on foot by the cart's wheels. One of these settles the crossbow she was sent to fetch inside by Gedeon's booted feet, along with a thick bundle of bolts.

*

The squires have had a busy morning: packing, polishing, sharpening, checking, double-checking — and, finally, striking the tents and packing the horses. Now it's all just about done, and Rowan Nayland comes out to take a place at his knight's side. He detours, however, on the way, seeing the cart and its remarkably recovered occupant. His smile is warm and wide to see Ser Gedeon so — himself. "You look well," he says to the knight. Then, to Senna, "You, mistress, are a miracle worker."

*

"Thank me by being careful who else you let tend it, hmm?" Senna replies to Gedeon with a significant look. "And use this," she presses a small bag into his hand, "In a tea every day. If you can keep that wound clean, you should be at fighting strength in no time." She curtseys at Rowan's approach, smile crooked. "Practiced, my lord. Much more reliable than miracles. I'll leave you to your farewells." With a thump of her hand on the cart, she turns to attend Ceinlys' call, curtseying once more to the lady. "My lady?"

*

"And I have looked forward to meeting /you/ properly, Ser Jarod, but I'm afraid that I must go and get into my armor. I will say, you have a certain aplomb for warfare yourself." Aron's grin toward Jarod is perfectly impish, but he sobers as he turns to look back to Ceinlys, amid all the new arrivals. "Sister? Be /careful/. I'll see you in a day or so." Reacing up to touch Ceinlys's elbow lightly, the young knight grins up at her. "And regale you with tales of my victory."

Turning to the new arrivals, the Haigh lordling offers a grave nod to each. "Forgive my distraction, all of you, please. I'll make it up to you on the battlefield." His grin is, once more, bloodthirsty. With a slight bow toward his mounted sister, the tourney rider edges out of the crowd, turning toward his pavilion.

*

As Senna turns to leave, Rowan reaches for her hand — spins her about, pulls her to him, and kisses her. Soundly. Then, releasing her to tend the lady, he murmurs, "Forgive me, Mistress, I've no better way to thank you." He grins, all cheek, and drops a quick kiss to her hand. Sort of like closing the gate after the horses have all bolted free.

*

With the distracted folks already chatting, Keelin simply nods his head to the group, watching for a moment or two. Acknowledged by the one knight departing, he notes that face, and then his attention is distracted by the squire kissing the Mistress Delacourt. That brings a grin to his face, as he stands to watch for a few moments before going to complete his preparations.

*

Leaning forward in her saddle, stroking at the dapple-grey's thick shoulder with one palm, Ceinlys addresses the healer quietly, though her glacial eyes do stray beyond the girl briefly to note the departure of her brother, affording him a firm nod of assent. Returning her focus, she offers Senna a quiet smile. "..I wished only to inform you. Our Maester will remain with the camp.. and I have ensured he is well supplied. If you should have need of anything in the coming days, do not hesitate to seek him out. I passed on your name." That seems to be all. The young lady straightens her back in the saddle, cutting a curt nod toward the other. It's as close as Ceinlys Erenford comes to an act of compassion. At least publically. No mention is made of the rather open display of affection between she and the young squire lingering near her readied caravan, particularly as she adds, evenly. "..may all the Gods watch over you, and those you tend. Ser Rivers?" This to Gedeon. "Are we set for the off?"

*

Jarod is by Gedeon's cart at present, so that's where his side is. His smile remains as he inclines his head again to Aron, though his expression moderates some as Rowan speaks to Gedeon. "Morning, Rowan," he says simply. "When you've a moment scare us up some breakfast, then I want to inspect the volunteers, make sure their gear is ready for march. Whenever we march." He sounds annoyed not to be doing it right now. The kiss does make his smile reappear, accompanied by a chuckle of amused surprise. Then, a more sober nod to Gedeon. "That one does have a ring. Safe travels, Rivers."

*

"I am imminently glad to be so… me," Gedeon informs his ex-squire with a smirk that is, indeed, pure Gedeon Rivers. He looks a bit of a sight, unshaven, hair greasy from days of sweating in a sickbed, but the flush of fever is gone and the glaze has lifted from his eyes. Eyes which widen a little as Rowan dip-smooches his healer. To Senna he nods, once she is un-dipped, studying the offered bag and giving a little sniff at the herbs within. "I'll take very good care of myself," he agrees, "and endeavor not to be too grievously poisoned." Then, to Jarod, "Fight well, Ser Rivers." For Ceinlys's question, he nods. "We are, my lady. Let's not keep the warriors from their duties any longer."

*

Senna was not quite expecting that. Obviously. She blinks in surprise, hands moving toward the squire's chest and something in her posture shifting…then pauses, brows furrowing. And by the time Rowan's moved on to kissing her hand, she's staring intently at the squire. "You are quite welcome," she assures, drawing the shreds of her usual composure back around herself. "For my sake, though, do try not to get /yourself/ injured. I'm not sure I'd be up to the thanks for that." A faint smile tugs at one corner of her lips as she turns back to Ceinlys, dipping her chin in a grave nod to the woman. "Thank you, my lady. Seven guard your path back to the keep."

*

Watching as some of the Lords depart for preparations and whatnot, Erik turns his glance to the just arrived Squire's interaction with the woman who is either a miracle worker or just a superb healer. The kiss in plain sight does bring an amused laugh from the Lordling as he wasn't expecting this in the Army Camps, atleast out in the open but he has a feeling there was something going on before his arrival that caused it so. As another knight joins the group, Erik nods his head to Keelin after looking him over briefly before looking towards Jarod as well, Ser Jarod, was it? I have arrived so I am not exactly up to date with the time table, I take it that the attack has been delayed and our orders to march not set in ink just yet?"

*

With that business seen to, and with the confirmation from the injured knight, Ceinlys nods, first to Gedeon, then to the group at large. For the most part, the familiar faces have faded into the backdrop of the camp, still bathed in the greyish dark of the hours before dawn, so her gesture is cursory, at best. Drawing a deep, slow breath, the young lady steadies herself, reaffirms her hold on her reins and, with a subtle gesture to her waiting attendants, urges her mount forward. The wheels of the cart creak in protest as the small dun mare hauling it finds her feet, then sets off with a dull rumble across the uneven ground. It's going to be a fun trip for Ser Gedeon.

*

The squire winks at Senna, then turns to salute his knight, flushed and grinning at his own boldness. "Breakfast and inspection. Right away, Ser!" He reaches into the cart to bid Ser Gedeon farewell, clasping — perhaps strangely — left hand to left. There seems to be a moment when he searches for words, then he simply nods, giving the clasped hand a parting squeeze and springing off to do his duty.

*

Jarod watches the farewell between his squire and the other Rivers, no longer smiling, then looks away. Expression thoughtful and pensive. Not that there's any shortage of things to be pensive about at the moment. Erik is speaking to him, and he somewhat gratefully gives the other knight his attention. Extending a hand. "I am Ser Jarod Rivers, aye. Half-Eagle, I am called sometimes." Not a nick-name often used to the Terrick bastard's face, but he's been embracing it with more flair, and back-handed pride, since he began his march with the Frey host. His pensive face deepens into a frown at that last question. "Aye. We await orders from our Frey commanders. I know not when they will come. I'd expected them sooner than this, frankly. But, we shall see how it plays. The Ironmen aren't going anywhere. Until we move them."

*

For the past little bit, the Charlton Campsite has been a flurry of activity, with squires and knights preparing for the battle that is soon to come. Now, as pre-dawn has begun to arrive, the activity has begun to die down a bit as the men are granted a brief reprieve and use this time to find what rest that they can. Unlike the majority of the others, Aleister has decided that rather then rest, he'd venture forth for a walk and when he emerges from the Charlton campsite, into the main body of the camp, his eyes begin to shift about, taking in those that linger and move about at this point.

*

Keelin watches the squire's actions with amusement, but he looks far more interested once Erik speaks to Jarod, as if he too is catching up on the news and the orders. He moves towards that group, thinking at last to give an introduction. "Ser Keelin Dorsey here," he says, the Knight of the Key, though what said key is for or to has always been a mystery. "Good to meet you, Ser Rivers," this to Jarod and a nod over to Erik as he doesn't know most of the folks here. Ser Anders, aye, but that fellow has gone off about his business. Back to Jarod then, Half-Eagle as may be, with a "You're with the Terricks then? Have you word at all about m'lord Patrek?" Common Knight he might be, but he's sworn service to someone, as might be guessed.

*

Passing by, toward the outer fringes of the encampment, Ceinlys inclines her head in a slow nod toward Ser Aleister, blue eyes lingering upon him for a moment before being deliberately cast forward to the horizon. With luck, she and her group will be far from here by first light. With luck. This is no longer a place for ladies, if it ever truly were. Those who remain must do so without.. distraction. Or, for that matter, any wailing about the sight of bloodied corpses, of which there are guaranteed to be many, one way or another. The Lady Erenford has stayed as long as she can. Too long, in some opinions. But at least she's taking the injured knight with her. One knight and a crossbow. Here's hoping the way ahead remains clear.

*

The proffered hand is accept and Erik shakes the other knight's hand firmly with a nod, "Half-Eagle? Interesting. I am Erik, Erik Jast, more of a Free Lance right now." He will no doubtly find out more about it later after his Squire has the time to gather some information for him about the notable people in this army. As for the reason for the delay and the wait, the young lord merely smirks and shakes his head, "Perhaps they are having trouble getting into their armor, but atleast it is lucky for me that they are delayed so I did not miss this battle but usually, from what I have studied, it is best to strike right at dawn as the sun is rising." As Keelin joins the coversation, Erik also inclines his head to the other knight, "Ser Dosey, well met."

*

Catching sight of Ceinlys as she begins to pass by, Aleister is returning that slow nod with one of his own, lips curving into the hint of a smirk as he regards her for a moment. Attention is then shifted towards the knight in the cart, his head giving a slight shake before he's resuming his look about the camp. It's doesn't take him long to to spot a few others amongst the crowd, but he doesn't venture towards a single person. Rather, he begins to aimlessly move about, making his way past a couple of the other camps as he begins to venture towards the large command pavilion that has been setup.

*

"I and my squires are the only Terrick-sworn in the camp, along with a handful of volunteers from among the refugees from the Roost who fled to Stonebridge," Jarod replies to Keelin. "The rest of my father, Lord Jerold's…" Well, the Rivers is 'half' Terrick, then. Eagle bastard. "…are under siege to the west, the direction in which we march. The Ironborn hold the town and lay siege to Four Eagles Tower, though I pray to the Warrior they can be dislodged with strength and steel. Sooner than later." Erik's hand is pumped, grip firm and friendly. "Knight of the Keys? I recognize that, a little, though I know not the story of it. Are you a Mallister man? The name Jast, I must admit, is not known to me."

*

Senna watches after the last group departing for Stonebridge, arms crossed loosely beneath her breasts. And if she looks just a little bit doubtful about staying with the troops, who can blame her? She doesn't linger on the feeling, though, drawing a deep breath and turning back to the camp at large and the gathered knights in particular.

*

Keelin nods his head, also reaching out a hand to shake. "Good to meet you then, Ser," he says. "I am a Mallister man, aye. I'd been sent to Riverrun for m'lord Mallister, and was there when the Irornborn decided they wanted a wee bit of attention. So, here I am - rather difficult for one man to make it through to Seagard alive at the moment." A chuckle, amusement showing easily on his face, "P'rhaps we'll have time to trade stories, like that one. If you'd not mind, I'd throw my lot in with your folk. I'm to try to join up with M'lord Patrek's people and I'd say this might be a good first step."

*

Erik does not look offended that those in the Riverlands do not know of House Jast, since there are many in the Westerlands that do not know of many Houses of the Riverlands, which is one reason why he is here. "My House is in the Westerlands, east of the Crag. The Lannisters are our Lords." There is a pause before a confident grin appears on the Jast Knight, "And that is one of the reasons why I am here, Ser Jarod. So that more people will know of House Jast in the coming days and the Ironborn will learn to fear us." Erik does turn to Keelin as the other knight speaks with his own introductions before looking to both men, "We will no doubt be able to bury the Ironborn barbarians into the dirt today, from what I have hear, they have no horses… no cavalry. I am not sure how one would expect to win a battle without mounted riders." He says with a smirk, sounding rather arrogant as he has no respect for the Squids.

*

"I fear Seagard is under siege as well," Jarod says as he clasps Keelin's hand gladly. "Our scouts report more than a thousand Ironmen are assaulting it, though Lord Mallister still holds them off. Warrior guide us, we can free the Roost and add its strength to this host, and march in that direction next. I'd not mind at all, I've more time than I'd like at present, it seems. And I would be honored to fight with a Mallister man. I squired under one of one of Seagard's own sworn swords, and got my knighthood at the Trident with Lord Jason's part of the Rebel host. I've yet to meet better fighting men than those he keeps in his service." To Erik, he nods, taking the man's introduction and confidence in. A grin plays on his face again. "I look forward to burying a good man barbarians, Ser Jast. They come on my lord father's land uninvited, and I feel unkind toward trespassers. Have you been long in the Riverlands? I'm told the West has been attacked as well. We had some hope of relief from the Golden Fleet at Lannisport when all this began, but we hear it's been destroyed. Greyjoy's forces fell on it like a hammer, even harder than they did Seagard and the Roost when this began."

*

As Erik listens to Ser Jarod speak of the news of the Ironborn invasion, the young lord can only shake his head at the question, " I have just recently arrived here, passing by Stonebridge yesterday to join these forces as soon as I had heard that there was a sizeable invading force up here. I left home before the invasion took place so I have only rumors to come by." But as Jarod speaks of the sinking of the Golden Feet, Erik scowls and shakes his head in disappointment, "I had thought that to be just wild rumors but I have heard it repeated more and more on my ride northward, just seems hard to believe. Though I attribute it more to treachery and surprise on the Ironborn's part than superior skill and tactics, their success will not last long and we will rid the Roost as well as Seagard of these savages."

*

Keelin gives a grim smile to Jarod, a nod. "Did you know Ser Matthias Greencloak?" he asks, thoughtfully. "I was his squire at the Trident, and ended up knighted there too." He gives Jarod another long look. "We might have been fighting side by side." Huh. "I take it you've changed some since then. Well, me too a bit." The information imparted by everyone is taken in, and Keelin nods his head. "I've heard that there's a sizeable force should be at Hag's Mire in the next couple of days," he says. "On our side, or at least against the Ironborn." Keelin's still trying to think back six years to see if he can place Jarod with those memories, but so far not having too much success.

*

"The Greencloak?" Jarod's grin suddenly becomes more boyish, making him look younger than his one and twenty years. "Do you recall Ser Vernon Mullard?" The common knight he squired for. "Dorsey…aye. I recall you a bit, now that I think on it, though you were older than I. And I think I tried the patience of the more senior lads. Well met and met again, Ser. This bodes well. We both lived through that day, after all." As for the Golden Fleet, a deep nod. "None expected this, Ser Jast, and clearly the Ironmen have been massing for it for some time now. They come not simply to raid, but to conquer. They bent the knee to Good King Robert just like the rest of the land after the Rebellion, but it seems they seek to be their own kings now. And kings over our coasts. Waited until we'd become accustomed to peace again after these six years, then put the knife in our backs."

*

Having not been at the Trident as a Squire, Erik just listens on to the reunion between the other two knights as he was with the Lannister host when they marched on Kings Landing to pave the way to victory for King Robert. As for the Squids building up an army for invasion, the Jast Knight merely nods, "What they won't find is a soft spine here, instead they will be rewarded with a lance to the face." There is a brief pause as he regards both knights, hoping they would know the answer, "Do either of you Sers know who commands the Van if a large scale battle is to happen today? And if there are any Houses looking to take on another knight in this battle." It seems like Erik wants to exchange his services of his Lance and Sword for a more comfortable place to sleep and perhaps more acquaintances made to share the glories of the day.

*

It's a slow walk that Aleister takes in the direction of the command pavilion and it's upon this path that his eyes come to fall upon Jarod, Kellin and Erik. Drawing nearer to the group, he begins to slow his walk and as he begins to come to a halt, there's a slight incline of his head in the direction of Jarod, followed by, "Ser Rivers." Then, he's looking to the others, that same nod coming to be offered, along with, "Sers."

*

Keelin thinks about that for a moment, and then he nods. "Ser Mullard? Oh." Now that brings recollection back, as does the boyish grin that makes Jarod look somewhat less than his age. "You did try our patience, I think. If I remember correctly. But you weren't the worst for it. Well met indeed." He's pleased. Looks like this will be a good fight. At Erik's question, he glances back to Jarod to await the response. He at least has thrown his lot in with the Half-Eagle, all things considered. "It is good to meet up with you, and to meet you, Ser Jast." He nods his head, recalling that he still has preparations to make. "I've got some tasks to attend to, so I'll excuse myself. But I'm sure we'll meet again. If you've anything that needs help with, Ser Rivers, let me know." A pause though at the new arrival. "M'lord," is offered, and then, "Keelin Dorsey, sworn to House Mallister."

*

"Ser Ryman Frey leads the Vanguard, and Ser Stevron Frey holds command of the whole force itself," Jarod replies to Erik. His tone carefully neutral on the matter of the Frey man. "At present. Word is Lord Ser Rickart Nayland is riding here to join the army as we speak. They say he'll assume joint command, though I know not if he'll direct things differently than the men of the Twins. As for your lance, I'm sure it would be welcome anywhere. I regret only that I have no spare coin to hire you myself, though perhaps we shall fight together anyhow." He offers a parting nod to Keelin as the knight prepares to move off. And one of greeting to Aleister as that knight approaches. "Ser Charlton. How goes the morn for you?"

*

Inclining his head to Keelin, Erik answers in kind, "Likewise, Ser Dorsey, may you bleed the Ironborn dry when we clash with them." Then with the approach of Aleister, the Jast Knight dips his head to the Lord, "I am Ser Erik Jast, Free Lance, here to make some Ironborns very miserable." He says with a grin before looking back to Jarod as he is filled in on the information. Nodding when Ser Jarod is finished, Erik will have to ask other Lords if they wish to take on a Free Lance Knight though Aleister looks like a promising possibility.

*

Looking to Kellin, Aleister offers another quick nod as he offers, "Ser Aleister Charlton, Master at Arms for House Charlton. Well met, Ser Dorsey." A pause is taken as attention shifts to Erik and the same nod is given to him, "And you, Ser Jast. Well met." Then, he's looking over towards Jarod, lips curving into a smirk as he offers a slight shake of his head, "Busy and yet, not so, Ser Rivers. This sitting around our encampments does not agree with me." There's a look in the direction that Ceinlys and Gedeon had departed and when he looks back, he's offering, "And you, Ser Rivers? I trust the day has been agreeable with you, thus far?"

*

"Hurry up and wait. You forget how much hanging about campsites not doing much of anything that war involves," Jarod replies to Aleister, grin edging up to a wry smirk. "I'm still alive, which makes it as agreeable as it can be." He falls quiet after that, leaving it to Erik and Aleister to make their own acquaintances.

*

Having yet to test himself in a real battle as the one at King's Landing was more of a massacre than a battle, Erik shakes his head slightly at the thought of having to stand around and do nothing, "Well, if the Ironborn gets as tired of sitting around and waiting like we do, they may end up forcing the issue." Though they would have plenty of warning since the sun is rising, giving light to the battlefield and it is a large expanse to have to cross.

*

A low, humorless chuckle begins to escape past Aleister's lips as he offers a slight incline of his head in the direction of Jarod, "Unfortunately, Ser Rivers, I fear you are far too correct. But I am pleased to hear you well." Eyes return to Erik after Kellin's departure, the smirk having returned to his lips, "I would think the Ironborn not so foolish as to force the issue with us. Let us hope that our delay has not forced Ser River's home to pay to large a cost." A faint sniff after that and he's looking back to Jarod, "How fares the other Rivers?"

*

"You mean Ser Gedeon, the Valentin's sworn?" Jarod shrugs to Aleister's question. "I've not been his bedside nurse. Not the best person to ask." There's perhaps a touch of bite in his tone, though it doesn't seem aimed at the other knight. He moderates himself before going on. "He seems improved. Fever's broken, but too weak to take the field still, so he's been taken back to Stonebridge to properly recover." As for his home, he nods somberly. "I pray it so, Ser. Four Eagles still holds from all reports. The castle is on the cliffs by the sea, and near-impregnable so long as food and supplies hold up inside. It's the town I fear for. A quarter of the Roost's population fled to Stonebridge, and more than twice that could shelter in the castle walls, but I know not how many managed that."

*

So that was the knight that was being carted away by the Lady, Erik thinks to himself as he puts a name to a face. "We will find out soon enough, Ser Rivers, when we break this band of Ironmen in front of us and ride onward to the Roost." Though he won't say that the chances of the towns people faring well against the raiders are high unless they had forewarning. Before the Jast Knight could continue, his squire approaches, respectfully greeting those present before whispering something to Erik which brings a sigh and a growl from the young lord, "I should clout you for that, Joseph, and I just might." He then turns Jarod and Aleister, "Pardon me, I have something that I need to attend to. Perhaps we will meet again before we ride off to battle."

*

There's a quick look in the direction of Erik and his squire, the smirk remaining firm upon Aleister's lips as he offers the other knight a nod of his head, "Perhaps so, Ser Jast, and if not, may your blade strike true." Then, he's looking to Jarod once more, regarding the man for a moment before offering, "I had thought you closer to him then it would seem, Ser Rivers. But it is good that he will receive treatment and seek recovery in Stonebridge." One less invalid to worry about, in his opinion, no doubt. "As for the townsfolk of your home? Let us hope that many of those that did not flee made it within the confines of the walls. Those that did not or could not?" A shake of his head is given as he leaves the rest unsaid.

*

Jarod leaves that unsaid, expression just settling into grim impatience. He bids a quick farewell to Erik. About Ser Gedeon, he has no further comment. "Hope is all well and good. I'd rather just take some Ironmen to the sword. Well. Time enough for that soon, is what I hope for. If you'll pardon me, Ser Charlton, I'd best go see if my squire's managed to find us some breakfast." A half-bow is offered to the other man.

*

"In short time, Ser Rivers, we will all have your fill of Ironmen and then some. Of that, I'm sure." Aleister is then giving a slight bow of his head in response to Jarod's own half-bow. "Be well, Ser Rivers. Should our paths not cross before the battle, may the Seven watch over you and yours." With that said, he's turning, beginning that slow walk back in the direction of the command pavilion.